


An Eternity in the Deepest Pit

by Rikka_kun



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Demons Are Assholes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), my first work ever in english, no beta we die like men, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-19 17:09:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19977574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikka_kun/pseuds/Rikka_kun
Summary: What if Aziraphale missed Agnes Nutter’s prophecy? What if Hell reserved for Crowley something else than Holy Water? Something worse?





	An Eternity in the Deepest Pit

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! So this is the first time ever I post a work in English! I'm not a native speaker so I really really really hope that there isn't many mistakes!  
> Kudos and Comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Enjoy!

When he opened his eyes, a question arose: did he really do the gesture, or did he just imagine it? It was mostly because of the dark. He had to blink several times and checked if his sunglasses were on his nose, but no. The obscurity reigned upon everything around him. Unlike the night and its starry sky, it was literally dark. No star shone. No light illuminated him. Besides among that absolute darkness, only the sound of his respiration was audible. No other sound resonated in this lifeless place. The sheer definition of aloneness.

Taking account of his surroundings, well of his non-surroundings, Crowley began to wonder how he ended up in a place like that. As far as he could remember, he was in Aziraphale’s bookshop drinking wine, from the eighteenth century according to his memory. Angel and demon celebrated both once again the Nonarmageddon and the return of their most precious belongings, namely a bookshop and a Bentley.

Well, even if the obscurity told him otherwise, he knew he wasn’t dreaming. When he slept, dreams rarely came and none of his ever seemed so real, so genuine. A sharp memory suddenly appeared to his mind. In the bookshop, at some point Aziraphale had been looking for something in the backroom, when several demons abruptly stood before him to take him back in Hell. Alcohol was still present in his organism at that time so he only recognised Hastur, but when he looked further in his memories, he was sure he heard something as ‘the deepest pit’. This revelation hit him. They didn’t do that? They cannot send him in the deepest pit of Hell for, as the legend said, the eternity, can they!? It was the cruellest punishment, a retribution only reserved to disobedient demons, to those who claim anarchy in Hell, to…to traitors. Lord Beelzebub titled him exactly like that several days ago, for his contribution on the non-end of the world, when the Apocalypse was averted.

So, here is this notorious pit, the deepest of the entire Hell, well, from what demons says. Crowley didn't know if it was effectively the deepest but it was the darkest and emptiest for sure. A pit of everlasting darkness. Then he fully realised what it implied; Crowley’s body moved automatically. His arms reached out nothing but void, before he stood up and set to run. The demon began to slowly scamper, only to speed up at a speed like nothing before. He run forward without interruption. What was the point to turn to the right or the left? These concepts didn’t even exist in this place. Crowley was eventually out of breath and realised that it was possible for a demon in the same way as any human being, probably just a side effect of being here. Then he noticed that absolutely nothing has changed around him. Always this same endless darkness, without any reflection nor sparkle, without any light to warm nor to encourage him.

The notion of time didn’t exist either. Crowley didn’t know how long he’d been there; it could be an hour like fifty years. Time stretched interminably and he surprised himself when an angel came to his mind. Aziraphale to whom he hadn’t had the opportunity to say goodbye. Aziraphale whose the demon hoped that he was okay, that he wasn’t too worried, that he looked for him, that he didn’t get sad by his disappearance. Aziraphale. Aziraphale. _Aziraphale_. His name was played on a loop in Crowley’s head and his cheeks were suddenly drench by his tears. Impossible tears as a rule for a demon, but then he couldn’t help it, he was overwhelmed by his emotions. A sudden burst of sadness and nostalgia overcame him like he never felt before. The sound of his sobbing was the only thing that echoed in his ears.

A broken laugh slipped out of his mouth. A fallen demon. What an irony after being a fallen angel. There he is seemingly unworthy of Hell itself. He truly was a pathetic being. No angel, nor demon. He was now nothing. And he was doomed to be nothing until the end of time, forever.

Crowley felt powerless. No miracle was feasible in the deepest pit of Hell. He hadn’t the slight idea of what he should do. So, he waited, without knowing precisely what, and paced around, again and again and again. He tried to shout out at demons, such as Duc Hastur or Lord Beelzebub, to no avail. His calls remained unanswered, exactly like six thousand years ago, or eight thousand now who knows, when he recklessly asked some questions to Her. The almost same pattern seemed to reproduce, except this time he didn’t have a second chance on Earth as a demon. It was hopeless. Condemned to wander in this place of endless darkness. He’ll became mad at a given moment, it was only a question of time, Crowley knew that for sure. Nobody could be possibly stay sane confine in such a place, all alone. About that, he found that humans had more luck, since there was hope for a near end. Crowley didn’t even have this possibility. In this whirlwind of depressing thoughts, he eventually dozed off, curled up on himself like a lost child.

He woke up with a start when something manifested in front of him. In fact, it was more precisely a sort of picture who stood before his eyes. It was like the exact same kind of footage where a ransom was demanded for the life of a hostage. Except he didn’t had anything to offer in return, only perhaps his life but even Hell didn’t seem to want it since he was kept captive here. His thoughts were interrupted when the person in the centre of the picture was revealed. Crowley recognized his angel, without any doubt.

“AZIRAPHALE!” He yelled in a hoarse cry.

All he got as response was an echo of his shout. The image unveiled before his eyes was a complete nightmare. It represented the worst that Crowley could possibly ever imagine. Aziraphale had his hands tied up above his head. His face wasn’t visible, but some blood seemed to flow from his head. Some other wounds were clearly present by the state his clothes and by the look of several blood's stains on his body. Some spots of burn also appeared here and there, certainly according to the mood of demons. During the first minutes, Crowley missed a detail because of the obscurity. But it wasn't a minor one. It was actually the most striking feature. The wings of the angel, formerly bright and shiny, were now torn apart and ripped off. Only few white feathers remained unharmed, but a complete fury knocked the poor angel down. Some blood and bones showed up where before there were divine majestic feathers.

Crowley didn’t cry when he saw this, but a guttural noise came from the bottom of his throat while he cursed all the demons of all the existence. He stood up and spread out his wings without acknowledged it, some monstrous shouts slipping from his mouth. He hardly ever felt such a rage boil in him. The last time was probably when he fell; and it was surely the first time he felt an emotion at a such intensity for someone else. He cannot see anything than his angel tortured by the demons he'd always loathed.

He wanted to throw himself towards the picture, but reality abruptly felt back again on Crowley. When he flapped his wings and brushed his hand against the image, the latter totally vanished, as if it had never existed. He collapsed with a thud and find himself alone with only his anger for companion. He didn’t know if what he saw was real or only the work of his imagination, but it didn’t matter at that moment. The demon screamed out of rage and despair for a long time, until his vocal cords cannot longer keep up and his voice was broken, leaving him completely empty of all energy.

Time continued its slow progression and the feeling of being here for centuries and centuries hit him. Some memories of his past life came to his mind, some memories of his encounters with Aziraphale became muddled, embodying all what he could cling on to. Having nothing else to do, he stayed most of the time sit to stare the void before him, without a word, nor an emotion, emptied of all life and what characterised him before.

A couple of time, Crowley could hear shouts from demons all around him, as if they were in the same room. Incessant shouts insulted him and called him a traitor, again and again. During these moments, all he could do was to grab his head in his hands to diminish the noise, but there was nothing else to do except waiting it stops and bears it. An egotistical thought began to grow in his mind. The demon started to wish that the Apocalypse had actually happened, that Heaven and Hell tore each other apart on Earth to leave any survivor. At least he would not have had to go through all this torture. But then he slapped himself for such a thought, an image of Aziraphale scolding him.

While Crowley looked right ahead without blinking, like he did several times since he was blocked here, a sudden wave of soft warmth spread around him, even if demons weren’t supposed to feel such a thing. Then again, Crowley wasn’t only a mere demon since a long time ago. The warmth increased pleasantly without becoming oppressive. He raised his head and saw a small light coming from above. This light increased in turn, forcing him to close his eyes because of its intensity when it seemed to get closer. The demon thought that his end was arrived, allowing him to rest in the end. Tears began to gather in Crowley's eyes, thinking about his long and quite nice life by the side of a certain angel.

But a voice brusquely rose from void.

“My dear Crowley, don’t stay here all your own. Come with me.” A soft voice filled with love said.

Crowley cracked an eye open and saw literally an angel. An angel came from the sky to rescue him. An angel called Aziraphale. Always dressed in his Victorian clothes with a gentle cream-coloured, his large wings magnificently spread out of his back, Aziraphale smiled at him and reached out a hand, radiating sheer light and love. The demon had a blank before to fully realise that he was supposed to grab this hand. The angel waited patiently for Crowley to move and to take his. But the demon was too afraid. What if it was an illusion again? What if he was left behind again? Instead he began to speak.

“Aziraphale?” His voice was so much weaker that he thought to be. It wasn’t like him. “Is that you?”

“Yes dear. And it is time for you to go home now.”

“Are you really here?” He asked while starting to reach out a hand to angel’s body.

“Exactly, Crowley. And for that matter, you are horribly late for teatime.” Said the angel with a falsely exceeded tone.

Crowley had a strange strangled laugh. But before he had the time to do anything, Aziraphale took his hand and all became suddenly white.

When Crowley awake, he was lying in a bed. Obviously Aziraphale’s bed, since the warm colours of the room and the soft smells of cocoa and cinnamon in the air. He could hear the light sounds of Aziraphale in his bookshop. A feeling of safety, he missed lately, struck him. A feeling of safety which appeared, Crowley understood it now, only in the presence of the angel. He didn’t know how Aziraphale managed to get him out of here, nor how much time has passed, but he didn’t care. Crowley will never be grateful enough toward his angel, that he loved beyond everything, for having save his life. For having save his body and mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for your reading!  
> Leave a comment ;)


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